A Twisted Request
by Abandon-Morality
Summary: Two months to the day since the Joker got locked up, he's broken out. But it's not revenge that he seeks when he goes to Bruce's penthouse; it's salvation. Will a broken Bruce help save a life, or will he cast Gotham into madness? R/R


I don't own shit. The shirt I'm wearing right now? I borrowed it from a friend. I don't even own that. If I had the rights to a multimillion dollar franchise, I wouldn't spend my time writing FanFiction. Use your brain, jackass.

Here's a guide to understanding the Joker talk:

This is just his normal, non-agitated voice.

**This is when he says 'Look at me!' or 'Why so serious?'**

**_This is his serious voice, like the one above, but with a desperate edge of it, like when he said, 'Let's put a smile on that face!'_**

Words that are given special emphasis, like when he said 'Not-One-Bit' will be written as so, with dashes between the words. If the words fit into any of the other categories, it will be given that categories particular flare. Take, for instance, when he says 'I just want her to know that I don't care-about-the-**_scars_**!'

_This is his sing-song and lilting voice, like when he said 'Laughing while he does it' or 'Join our team?'_

This is his 'Commissioner' voice. It is serious, but still mocking.

_**This is his emphasis voice, when his voice is full of emotion, like when he said, 'He sticks the blade in my mouth' or 'now she can't stand the sight of me.'**_

Fatalistic Drum: Sorry about the mix up with the letters. My 't,' 'c,' and 'a' keys are broken, so I do the best I can to make sure that the auto-correct doesn't make silly things up, but sometimes I miss things that are really close in spelling. The Joker in my story is more broken than the one portrayed in the new movies, and I'll explain why eventually. For now, just assume that the Joker has gone through some stuff since last we met him.

Mystic Valkyrie: That's just the way that I write sometimes when I'm excited. I hate sentences that are too short, and when people don't put enough description in their work, so I tend to overdo it in mine. I tried to edit some of that down, so I hope you can finish it now. I checked my spelling, got rid of the quotes, and I have the 'Bruce though to himself' because my original copy (Posted in a fiction peer circle) didn't have it, and people asked me about it. I figured that I would save myself from such questions by putting it in here. Guess I just can't win all the time.

Thank you both for your reviews!

BANDON-MAKES-A-START

Bruce stared down at Gotham, wondering, not for the first time, if his efforts were worth anything at all.

Two months to the day since his reason for being had perished in a flaming campaign of his most fatal mistakes, and still his wounds refused to heal. He stared down at the city that she had died protecting, that he had allowed himself to become a wanted fugitive to protect, and wished that he had let it all burn away so long ago. Maybe when Ra's Al Ghul had allowed him the perfect out, maybe after one of the times when Gotham had called out for his help, only to condemn him moments later. Maybe he should have stopped before he had started, given up before he could be beaten down.

Two months of pain with no balm for it had cast Bruce's fragile mind into disarray. He had pursued ever more imaginative means of self destruction until, after years of stalwart support, Alfred had left him. The old man had stated that he had had to go through the death of one master, and that if Bruce had no strength left with which to live, he wouldn't stay to witness the demise of another.

So, completely alone in the world, Bruce stared down at his city. As he let the flashing lights of the vibrant city blind him, he both hoped that there were and weren't a single person who would care if he happened to slip, to plummet to the earth and land in a mess of so much flesh. For a heartbeat, he leaned over the edge, balancing on his toes as he peered down at the harsh ground directly below him. _Yes_ he couldn't help thinking, _that would be a quick one_. Bruce snorted, thinking of the newest threats against his life.

As Bruce stood up on the ledge, something distracted him from his morbid thoughts; a single ambulance headed toward him, speeding through the rain like a brightly flashing alarm, waking him from his reverie. He experienced a jolt as he saw it pass him, heading in the direction of the Penthouse. Bruce was up in a flash, running to the door that he had climbed out of to get there and down the stairs. He heard the pounding of his feet as he thundered through the hall of the condominium but cared nothing for those who might be sleeping behin the cold doors.

He didn't care that his jacket was soaked with rain, or that his shoes slipped on the wet grass; he ran. Had it not been for the fact that the condominium was only a couple of blocks from his penthouse, Bruce wouldn't have been able to catch sight of the ambulance speeding up the steep hill to his current abode. His thoughts wild, Bruce sprinted up the hill, reaching the top just as a stretcher emerged carrying the body of the person that he cared for most in the world; Alfred.

BANDON-MAKES-A-BREAK

Bruce had been in the hospital with Alfred for hours, talking with doctors, calling everyone that he knew to see if the aging butler had any family that needed to be reached. Eventually, he called Lucius, telling the older man that his close friend had had a heart attack. Nothing could compare to the dark knowledge that the doctors had maliciously dumped on him; had Alfred not been able to crawl to a nearby phone and call for an ambulance, Bruce would have been burring another person that he loved.

Alfred now lay hooked up to more monitors than Bruce could stand to count. The man that had always seemed so strong, so eternal, was now relying on the innovations that only great wealth could provide. After Bruce had signed the permission for the doctors to do whatever they could to help him without worrying about the cost, they had moved the elderly man to a private room in a better kept part of the hospital. Bruce wanted to snarl at them whenever they walked in, prodding the unconscious man just to make sure that their meal ticket was still breathing.

It was early morning by the time Lucius arrived, his normally careful appearance marred by a poorly buttoned shirt, sloppy tie, and frizzled hair. Bruce was found fuming in the darkest corner of the room, his deep blue eyes burning holes in the backs of any doctor that came in. Lucius took in the sight; a frail old man on a hospital bed and a pissed off billionaire glaring daggers from the corner.

"I see you've had a very eventful morning, Mr. Wayne." Lucius said calmly, trying to avoid a fist fight with his boss.

Bruce nodded, a grimace pulling his striking features into a tight parody of a greeting. "It has been busy, Mr. Fox. It would have been even busier had Alfred not had the strength to call for help."

Lucius heard the self-deprecation in the young man's voice and shook his head; "It was only chance that you were gone when Alfred had his heart attack, Mr. Wayne. You couldn't have known that he had a congenital heart condition unless he had told you about it. You can't go blaming yourself for what happened today. Just be thankful that it was only a trip to the hospital you had to deal with, and not something more."

Bruce nodded, but couldn't stop thinking about how close he had come to losing the man that had all but raised him. With a harsh snort, he remembered his past, and realized that he hadn't changed at all since he had confronted Falcone all those years ago. While he had been stuck on a roof top mourning one friend, he had allowed another to collapse in his kitchen.

"I don't even know what he was doing there, Lucius." Bruce sighed, "Last thing he said to me he was going back to Britain, away from his 'Bloody irresponsible ward.'"

Lucius chuckled, looking fondly at the figure lying prone on the bed between him and Bruce, "Did you really think that he would abandon you after all this time? He may have said that, but you should know by now that most of the harsh things that he says are meant to guide you, not to allow you to go astray."

Bruce smiled sadly, thinking of all the trouble had gotten into under the older man's guidance. "Not that it works, most of the time," Bruce sighed.

"Too true, Mr. Wayne, too true." Lucius took off his over coat and laid it neatly on the foot of Alfred's bed. "Now, then, Mr. Wayne, I think that it's time for you to go to bed. Up all night doing rounds and then up all morning dealing with doctors. I'll watch Alfred for a couple of hours, and I'll be sure to let you know the moment that he wakes up."

Bruce thought about arguing, but as the weight of the past couple of days without sleep crashed down upon him, he merely nodded complacently, shrugging on his damp coat and calling for a nurse to check on his friend once more before he left.

Assured that everything was fine, Bruce left the hospital, allowing his tired body to find its way home through the early morning gloom.

Jumping on the Metro, he was at the nearest intersection in a matter of minutes. Walking up the steep hill to his abode, he sighed in relief, imagining a long shower and a quick nap before going back to the hospital. As he used his key to open the door, Bruce barely got two feet into the penthouse when something hard came into sharp contact with the back of his head, and everything went black.

BANDON-MAKES-A-BREAK

Bruce woke with the worst headache of his life to find himself in his own bedroom, tied to his own chair. Looking around frantically, he noticed a rumpled coat on the floor near him, its stains a dark, brick red. _Fuck_, the billionaire thought groggily, shaking his head to clear the fuzz that had gathered there, _how did I get myself into this?_

Bruce froze as he heard the sound that had haunted his dreams for months; mad cackling echoed through the open door, and, with his usual flare for the dramatic, in stepped the deranged clown he had come to despise. "You," Bruce snarled, adopting his Batman voice without thinking.

The Joker chuckled at him, sauntering over to the tied up 'prince of Gotham,' a plate of food in one hand and a steak knife in the other. Bruce cringed away instinctively, his years of training forcing his muscles to contract, seeking an escape.

It was useless; the clown prince had tied him tightly, leaving no room for him to wiggle, let alone escape. The Joker tsked at him, laughing softly as Bruce tried to move away. "Don't worry, _Brucey_, I need something from you, -_something that no one else can give me_; I won't endanger you . . . yet."

Bruce shuddered, thinking of all the things that the psycho could want from him, none of them things that he'd be willing to give. "What do you want from me, Joker?" he asked in his best 'rich boy' voice, hoping that the man who was now devouring his food hadn't noticed his earlier slip.

The Joker shrugged, shoving a piece of roast into his scarred mouth, sucking the juices out of it before swallowing. "You see, Brucey," the madman said conversationally, "You have something like no one else has; you have _influence_. You are the Prince of Gotham. You're practically the richest man in the world, and you know how to make a deal."

The Joker paused, casting a shrewd eye over the bound man, "I know that you can do things that no one else can, not even the Dark Knight." The Joker snarled the words, "That bastard b_ats_y that left me hanging over the side of a building like a fuck _piñata_. All pretty as you please for those fools with SWAT to collect." The Joker became aggravated, throwing his plate of food to the floor, sending meat and potatoes into a nasty, mushy mess on the once immaculate floor.

Snarling and striding angrily in front of Bruce, he was liked a caged animal, tense and wild. "What do you want?" Bruce repeated with more authority in his voice, hoping to make the other man more lucid. The Joker turned to him abruptly, making Bruce lean back, though he tried to hide it.

"I want," the Joker said, calm voice belied by harsh breathing, "For you to help me save a life."

Bruce blinked in confusion; the crown prince of crime was asking for his help to SAVE a life? "Why can't you do it?" Bruce asked nervously, "Or why can't you just go to the cops and tell them yourself? Even if you are nuts, they'd still help you."

The cackling fit that erupted was more frightening than any others he had heard; unlike normal, this laughter held darkness, but no mirth. It was harsh and cold, -bitter, for lack of a better word.

"Fuck the cops," Joker snarled, "Fuck the bat and fuck this city. They can't even help themselves. They won't save themselves."

As he took to pacing again, Bruce heard half muttered words and vicious growls, and he was, for the first time, genuinely afraid of the man before him; this psychotic clown.

"_You_," Joker gasped, "You wouldn't understand. They can't help. They won't. They can't accept that some people are different. They can't accept that being different isn't always a bad thing." Here he stared Bruce in the eye, a look almost like a plea coming from him, "You have to understand. She's different. Like me, but not. She won't let anyone near her, not unless she knows that you're special, like her, like me. Like YOU, Bruce. Unless she knows that you're one of us, she'll hack you to pieces. You have to save her. If you can find her, then you'll be able to give her the warning that I can't right now; tell her to leave. Save her, Brucey, and you'll never hear from me again."

Bruce stared at the other man in shock; the psycho wanted him to save a girl that was just as, if not more, crazy than him, and he wanted him to do it as, what? A favor to the man who had killed his best friend? Fuck that.

"You're fucking insane," Bruce snarled, his billionaire persona slipping as he regarded the man with all of the hatred residing in his soul. "I'll never help you. You killed Rachel. Now you're trying to get me to save someone just like you? A freak like you? You're out of your mind."

The Joker lunged forward, steak knife already heading for Bruce's throat, laughing maniacally. But Bruce didn't react like he wanted for him to; he didn't cower or scream out. He laughed. Loud brays of laughter peeled from his mouth, spilling out to fill the echoing room.

Joker stopped, his head cocking to the side as he stared down at the man below him; taking in the dark circles of his eyes and the thinness of his face. Dropping the knife, the Joker stumbled back, sitting on the bed tiredly. "_I can see it in your eyes_, Brucey. You're _**fragile**_; it hangs off of you like poorly made clothes." Sighing, the Joker fiddeled with the cloth on his pants, "What do you want in return, Brucey? You want me to bribe you into saving a life, fine. I'll bribe you with anything that I have, that-I-can-get. But give me your _**word**_. Swear to me that you will find her, that you will save her."

Bruce knew that Batman would agree to help whoever it was that the villain thought needed help, but he wasn't Batman right now, he was Bruce Wayne. He was hurt and he was tired and he was so angry. "You wanna know what you can do, you freak? You can take a sugar coated fuck off the end of my dick and then have a nice sunday breakfast with Gorgon. That's what you could do."

The Joker shot up, snarling at the bound man, hitting him repeatedly in the face before storming out of the room. Bruce just cackled, hearing the man pacing in the hallway before disappearing. Bruce wasn't worried about being left alone in his penthouse; he knew that someone would come to look for him before long.

Allowing himself the satisfaction of besting the Joker, he didn't hear the feet padding towards him, didn't think to close his mouth before the gag was stuffed into it.

"_I'll show you what happens to little bastards like you_; _too absorbed in your own pain to take in the suffering of others_." The Joker growled in his ear, ripping open Bruce's shirt, leaving only his arms covered, the rope that held him to the chair also holding the shirt to him.

Bruce gasped, eyes widening frantically. _What the fuck is he-?_ Bruce thought to himself before the Joker started to divest him of his pants, and his thoughts scattered into panic.

Bruce tried to scream, to fight, but he couldn't. All he could do was watch as the Joker lowered himself to the floor, kneeling between his feet. As the clown gave Bruce one last searching look, his sinful lips curved into an unforgiving smile, Bruce knew what was going to happen before it did.

Bruce closed his eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare and find himself in his bed, Alfred in the kitchen making his breakfast.

As that scarred mouth took him in, Bruce moaned in wanton bliss through the gag, and hated himself for it. Writhing in shame and pleasure, Bruce did his best to stop his body from responding to the clever ministrations, but it was too much; hands and lips combines to make him harder than he had ever been in his life. He wanted it to stop, but he knew that he didn't. It had been so long since he had had a gratifying sexual experience, and he knew that that was what this would be; gratifying, in one way or another.

Slowly, the Joker built up his orgasm, but just as Bruce was about to topple over the edge, the madman squeezed his balls.

"_No, no, no_." The Joker whispered, standing up, "We can't have you coming before the real fun starts."

With quick, efficient movements, the Joker took off his clothes, giving Bruce a great view of an impressive erection.

Widening his eyes, Bruce flicked his gaze over the body before him, actually salivation at the sight; lean, hard muscles covered in soft looking peach skin stood before him. Groaning, Bruce looked back at the Jokers member, hoping that this was just a scare tactic, not a real fit of passion.

"Come one, Brucey, it's time to have some **fun**." The Joker climbed onto his lap, positioning himself directly above his penis, before reaching down and smearing something on Bruce's cock. Looking down, Bruce gave a harsh bray of laughter through the gag as he realized what the Joker was doing. "Yes," the Joker said, smiling, "Take this night."

And then Bruce screamed, his cock suddenly impaling the man above him in one sharp movement. Bruce couldn't breathe as the Joker engulfed him; his scent, his hands, his lips. All of it caressing Bruce as he had never experienced it before. At first he was repulsed by who- by what- was riding him, but too quickly for his liking, Bruce soon began to thrust upward. He wanted, needed, to be deeper in the man above him, using every muscle he could to make the other man moan and writhe.

Minutes or hours or years later, Bruce noticed that his bonds had come undone, perhaps had been undone for a long time now; but he didn't care. The Pain and the hurt and the stress of the past few months were crashing down upon him, bearing away his inhibitions in a flood of gasoline tinted madness.

He wrapped his hands tightly around the Jokers back, forcing the other man down upon him, every one of his anxieties spurring him on. Eventually Bruce stood, the Joker's legs wrapped around his waist and tongues tasting of strawberry and spice colliding in a mesh of desperate flesh. In unknowing bliss, he walked them backwards, until the front of his knees knocked against his bed. He sent them sprawling, their bodies separating for the barest of seconds. The Joker had just enough time to marvel at the softness of the sheets surrounding him before Bruce was on him again, in him again. Bruce's hand in his hair, his nails raking his back. Pushing and pulling and thrusting until, with a final, wordless cry, the Joker came, dragging the billionaire along for the ride.

And as Bruce felt sleep clawing at the conscious world, he finally, inevitably, felt the tattered remains of his sanity flee from him.

And in the darkness of his room, he only just heard a whispered song, sung so close to his ear that he knew that the Joker had to be leaning over him to do it, "So take this night." the Joker whispered, "Lay me down on the street."

The last words came to him through a thick fog, "I know I'm not forgiven, but I hope that I'll be given some peace."

And, with a final cackle, the Joker was gone.

BANDON-MAKES-AN-END

Lyrics are from 'This night' by Black Lab.

This is the first chapter of my Joker Fic. It can also be read as a one shot, if you like it like that.

Please review, and tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, or what you were apathetic about.


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